


Say My Name

by authorinprogress97



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Jihoon, Canon Compliant, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex in the studio, Sub Seungcheol, Top Jihoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6392398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorinprogress97/pseuds/authorinprogress97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a reason Jihoon spends so much time in the recording studio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say My Name

**Author's Note:**

> All because I watched their latest V app and Jihoon was like "YOU CAN'T JUST COME IN HERE" when Seungcheol barged in. I... really love JiCheol oh my god. Tbh it's like 2000 words of smut so like idek man

Jihoon knows that most people would think he spends an obscene amount of time in his recording studio. Who would _want_ to spend hours upon hours in a cramped space, listening over and over to the voices of people they know so well?

Sometimes, when it’s four in the morning and he’s been at it for hours, he doesn’t see why _he_ would want to.

The urge comes and goes as he listens to the song – _his_ song – come together note by note. His favourite part is when he has the whole song, even just the barest skeleton, and he listens to it for the next three minutes.

Of course, that brings about a whole bunch of problems.

Jihoon had figured out sometime when he was eighteen that he’s a little… fixated on Seungcheol. He’s come up with hundreds of thousands of reasons why he _cares_ so much about the elder (they’ve known each other longest, Seungcheol is one of the few people who’ve gotten past Jihoon's mask, Seungcheol has this _brightness_ about him that makes it impossible to resist –), but all Jihoon is _sure_ of is that he’s pretty sure he’s half in love with him.

Most days, it barely registers in his mind. A lingering touch, an extra glance… Seungcheol has known him for so long that those little things are just that – little. They’re not some extravagant confession because it’s just something that _happens_.

And other days… other days it hits him like a tidal wave. He’s drowning in all this affection and he has no idea what to do about it. His body feels hot, the surface of his skin feels cold and he can barely breathe. His mind is filled with Seungcheol Seungcheol _Seungcheol_ and he needs an escape.

An escape that he conveniently uses as SEVENTEEN’s producer.

Today just happens to be one of those days where he’s filled with more emotion than he can handle. He wishes he could lie to himself and say he doesn’t know what brought it on, but he _always_ knows why. (Jihoon's good at many things, but lying to himself isn’t one of them. Lying to everyone else… well, that’s easy. He’s got it down pat.)

All things considered, it should have been nothing. Seungcheol likes to go running at night. Jihoon doesn’t know why. It’s dangerous at night, no matter how big or strong Seungcheol ~~is~~ thinks he is.

It’s cold now – spring seems to have forgotten that it’s time to wake up, with Seoul firmly in winter’s clutches.

Jihoon turns when the front door opens and his body simultaneously heats up and chills.

“Jihoon-ah, still awake?” Seungcheol pants, patting at his sweaty neck with the towel he had brought. He flicks a sweat-logged lock of hair out of his eyes and grins. God, he doesn’t even know what he does to Jihoon.

Jihoon can’t muster a smile, but he tries anyways ( _for Seungcheol, always for Seungcheol_ ). His brain is full of white noise and he has to clasp his hands together so Seungcheol can’t see them shake ( _wanna hold you and kiss you and fuck you against the wall –_ ). He hasn’t felt this way since Seungcheol's first rehearsal for his solo stage.

He needs an out. Right now.

“I – I’m going to the studio,” he mutters, grabbing his song notebook and his bag. He can’t look at Seungcheol, his gaze glued to the ground.

“Now?” Seungcheol asks. “It’s eleven.” There’s a shift in his voice. Jihoon _knows_ that tone; it’s the one he uses when he whines and complains Jihoon into doing whatever he likes. Jihoon _hates_ that he’s so weak to that.

Jihoon shakes his head, narrowly avoiding Seungcheol where he’s reaching out for Jihoon. “Need to finish the album.” Bullshit. “I won’t take long.” _Bullshit._

“Jihoon…” Seungcheol's sigh is deep and heavy, like a bullet in Jihoon's shoulder. “Stay in tonight. Give that big brain of yours a rest, hmm?”

Tempting. So tempting. If he’s lucky, Seungcheol will let him fall into his bed and won’t question it. Jihoon can always pretend he’s too lazy to crawl to his own bed and just fall asleep there.

But. It won’t get rid of the heat ( _desire_ ) simmering underneath his skin. It’ll make it worse and he’ll have nowhere to hide – no, it’s better if he goes to his studio. Where he can be alone, just himself and the music.

“Tomorrow,” Jihoon promises, but his mouth itches with the lie.

“Have you eaten?”

Jihoon cracks an awkward smile. _No, not really_ , but he doesn’t say it out loud. Seungcheol will keep him there; insist on finding him food and – no. Just no. He _needs_ to be alone.

He slips out the door before Seungcheol can protest ( _before I do something I’ll regret_ ).

 

 

It probably starts somewhere around SEVENTEEN TV.

Jihoon can’t remember the date. He can’t remember what started it. All he remembers is the feel of the floor of his back and the intoxicating heat of Seungcheol hovering over him. His smile is frozen and he has no idea what he’s doing with his hands. They’re still there – he can feel the sweatiness of his palms – but he can’t, for the life of him, remember what they were doing.

Seungcheol's lips are moving, but his brain can’t understand the collection of sounds. All he hears is the timbre of Seungcheol's voice, husky and soft, much too close to him. His fingers itch to tangle in Seungcheol's dark hair, pull him down for a kiss that steals both of their breaths, tongues dancing as agile as their bodies. _God_ , he wants to rut down on Seungcheol's thigh and – _fuck_.

Jihoon blinks and Seungcheol's face drops down. The younger panics – he wants it _so_ bad, but he shouldn’t, because he’s Jihoon and that’s Seungcheol and _oh fuck, they’re on camera_ – and turns just a moment too late.

 _I hope he can’t tell_ , Jihoon thinks as he looks at himself in the mirror. He’s barely breathing and after a tension-filled heartbeat, Seungcheol pulls away.

Jihoon hazily remembers rolling to his feet and shaking himself off for a little before excusing himself to the bathroom.

“Alone,” he had sighed, looking down at the bulge in his pants. He had ran his fingers through his hair, cap slipping off his head and dropping to the floor as he followed it, sliding down all the way. “Fuck.”

And if he’d imagined Seungcheol hovering over him again, but lower and with flushed cheeks and swollen lips stretched over his cock, he’ll keep it to himself.

 

 

Living in a dorm with twelve other boys is hard. The joke about running out of toiletries aside, privacy is scarce. They don’t really lock doors and god forbid they get to use the shower alone instead of in twos and threes.

Ha. He supposes, when it comes down to it, he’s just trying to say that it’s impossible to masturbate when you live, breathe and eat together.

It’s one good thing about being known for sequestering himself in the studio for hours on end. He’s taken advantage of the studio for his own personal use countless times. It’s not like he does it _all_ the time, but why waste alone time?

Jihoon throws himself into the chair, running a hand down his face. He’d hoped the walk would have calmed his unsuspecting boner, but if anything, it’s made it worse. He feels strung out, on the edge of bursting – and he hasn’t even touched himself. For fuck’s sake…

Every time he blinks, he has the sight of Seungcheol's goddamned face, flushed from exertion, imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. All he can think about is the many ways he wants to get Seungcheol under him, begging and _desperate_ for him. He wants to hear Seungcheol's rich voice moaning his name as Jihoon's hand wraps around his flushed member.

Jihoon groans, slumping in his favourite chair. The worn leather squeaks as he shifts. His thoughts aren’t helping; it leaves an itch under his skin and he can feel his ears heat up.

“No,” he mutters, pressing the heels of his palm to his closed eyelids. “Not tonight. I’m not gonna – not _tonight_.” He reaches into his bag for his notebook, but his hand brushes a cylindrical tube. He freezes.

A helpless little laugh escapes Jihoon's mouth as he pulls out the tube of lube. He’d tossed that in one night and completely forgot about it – okay, not _completely_. He remembers it when he needs to.

What do they call it, a Freudian slip? He read it somewhere once. Does it work physically too?

He weighs the tube in his hand, staring at the screen of his desktop before him. _Oh, fuck it._ Might as well take advantage. It might assuage the desire in his veins enough to let him work in peace.

He shifts his sweatpants and boxers down his hips, leaving them around his thighs. He lets out a shuddering sigh as he exposes himself to the cold air of the empty studio. He slicks his hand up before wrapping it around his length, a groan sounding through his gritted teeth. _Fuck_ , that felt good. He hadn’t realised just how worked up ~~Seungcheol had gotten him~~ he got himself. He slumps further, feet planted firmly on the ground.

The tube is tossed onto the desk, the accidental tapping of keys unmistakable in the silence of the room. It’s accompanied by the strains of a sensual beat that Jihoon knows all too well; he’s the one who’d created it, after all.

Of course, it’s Seungcheol's voice he hears. He remembers working on Seungcheol's rap the last time he’d been in the studio, looking through the four or five recordings he has.

The pleasure _spikes_ , causing Jihoon's back to arch. His hand moves faster, slicker from the precum that that collects on the tip. “Fuck,” Jihoon gasps, nails digging into the arm. It’s too much, too much – the song, Seungcheol's goddamn voice, and his own fucking imagination…

He can see Seungcheol's flushed face, but this time it’s Seungcheol on his back. He can hear the elder, but the words don’t make sense. All he can hear is Seungcheol calling his name, head thrown back and his neck bared before Jihoon, waiting to be marked. Jihoon's own fingers curl into the hem of his shirt, but in his mind it’s Seungcheol's fingers tugging at his shirt, curled in a tight ring around his length. It’s Seungcheol's thumb brushing his cockhead, bring him ever closer –

The sound of the door opening has Jihoon's eyes flying open, heart in his throat. “Wait, you can’t just come in,” he calls out hoarsely, but it’s too late.

Brown eyes widen, barely shining through the halo of light around chestnut hair. “Oh,” Seungcheol breathes, plastic bag dangling from limp fingers. His voice is strained, but Jihoon cant read him. It’s too bright, he reasons hazily, and _god_ , he just wants to come. “I should – go.”

“Stay.”

Seungcheol freezes, so impossibly still. The words had slipped out before Jihoon's brain could catch up, but he can’t find it in himself to regret it.

“You don’t mean it – ” Seungcheol tries to argue, but he doesn’t let him.

“Stay,” he repeats, looking up at Seungcheol. He’s somehow emboldened by the fire in his veins ( _the same fire that’s caused him so much trouble, the fire that makes him want more than he should ask for_ ) He thumbs the sensitive head and moans lowly, eyes slipping shut for a moment. “Please.”

If he thinks about it, the situation could have gone _so_ badly. Seungcheol could have said no, or he could have left and never talked to Jihoon outside of work. There are just – it could have _destroyed_ everything they’ve had… but it doesn’t.

Seungcheol kicks the door shut, food thrown haphazardly onto the desk. With the elder in the room, the studio feels a lot smaller. He looms over Jihoon, who’s still leisurely stroking himself. He’s not so desperate now, even if the object of his desires is standing before him.

The elder reaches for the keyboard and the music stops. The silence is deafening, interrupted only by the sound of their breathing and Jihoon's hand moving wetly.

“You, ah, do this often?” Seungcheol asks, sounding strained. His gaze is between Jihoon's legs, where cock is curved upwards towards his stomach.

Jihoon chuckles, choking on his laugh when his grip tightens involuntarily. “Which part? Jerking off in the – ah, fuck – studio or inviting people who barge in to stay?”

Seungcheol drops to his knees – between Jihoon's legs – and _oh_ , his eyes are so dark. “Both,” he growls, low and husky. He trails surprisingly soft fingertips up Jihoon's half-covered thighs, plucking gently at the waistband of Jihoon's pants.

“You’re the only one,” the vocalist groans as Seungcheol's hands rest on his hips. “Only you.”

Briefly, he wonders if Seungcheol knows that it’s not just inviting him for midnight trysts. Probably not.

“I see.” Seungcheol's voice is deep, but soft, like whipped cream. It’s honey and cinnamon and apple pie. It’s the ocean and the sun and – _fuck, fire._

Seungcheol's hand wraps around Jihoon's – around Jihoon's aching cock. The vocalist gasps, thrusting up into the heat of their palms. “What are you – ”

“Let me help you.”

“H-help? How’re you – _don’t stop_ ,” Jihoon groans. Seungcheol's pulling their hands away, the friction disappearing and the heat – the inferno, it’s scorching now. Absolutely _unbearable_.

Seungcheol's lips quirk into a smirk; he looks like a hungry wolf, ready to eat him up in one gulp. “What do you want?” he asks softly, but it sounds so harsh in the quiet of the room.

 _You_. The answer is on the tip of his tongue, but that’s where it stays. It’s too telling, too much; that’s an extravagant confession he can’t afford.

Somehow, he manages through trembling lips, “Make me come.”

Seungcheol's eyelids droop and _fuck_ , Jihoon's never found the elder more alluring. “Tell me.”

Tell me.

_Tell me._

Where the fuck would he start? He has a couple years of imagined scenarios, but now that he can _have_ Seungcheol, he’s drawing a blank. And Seungcheol.

 _God_ , Seungcheol. He looks so eager to please. There’s a blush drawn high on his cheeks, lips parted – on his knees, like he’s ready to beg.

Beg.

Seungcheol looks so responsive. Jihoon isn’t one to throw away chances.

He lets his fingers thread through Seungcheol's thick lock of hair; the strands are slightly damaged from the few colourings he’s had. Jihoon tightens his grip experimentally, eyes widening slightly when Seungcheol lets out a breathless moan. _Interesting_ …

He tugs Seungcheol closer to his neglected cock, satisfaction blooming in his chest at the way the elder’s eyelids flutter. He strokes Seungcheol's cheek, neither of them minding the lube smearing from his dirtied fingers.

Seungcheol's tongue flicks out at the tip. The younger’s grip tightens, breathing erratic. “Go on,” he encourages and Seungcheol's hold on Jihoon's hips tightens. He opens his mouth to take him in – and Jihoon is gone.

The silky heat of Seungcheol's mouth is – there were no words. He had imagined this moment so many times, but it was _nothing_ compared to the real thing.

Seungcheol pulls off with a wheezing laugh, Jihoon whining at the loss of heat. “Breathe.”

He takes a deep breath, only then realising his light-headedness. He’s barely gains his breath back before Seungcheol's attention is back on him, tongue wicked and effective. Jihoon can’t hold back his moans, back arching from the sensations. He’s probably too loud – he can feel his throat working – but he can barely hear himself through the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He feels the tip of his cock brush the back of Seungcheol's throat and – _sweet mother of god, heavens above_ – the latter swallows. Jihoon can’t hold back, silent as he comes down Seungcheol's throat without a warning.

“Fuck – I didn’t – Seungcheol – so sorry,” he says, tripping over his words.

Seungcheol pulls off Jihoon as he softens, wiping his mouth with delicate fingers. His lips are curved upwards – satisfied, like the cat that got the canary. “Can I kiss you?” Seungcheol asks demurely. Jihoon groans; Seungcheol's eager eyes and swollen lips threaten to ruin him (even if it’s already stolen his heart).

With the hand in Seungcheol's hair, he pulls the elder up so he can taste the latter’s lips.

Heaven. Pure and utter heaven.

It’s like Seungcheol has consumed everything Jihoon loves in the world and infused it with his own distinct flavour. It’s intoxicating and he can’t get enough of the way Seungcheol whimpers – actually fucking _whimpers_ – when Jihoon slips his tongue past soft lips to explore the warm cavern that is Seungcheol's mouth.

Warm hands venture up Jihoon's shirt, but he wants – _needs_ more. Jihoon pulls back and something primal in him roars at the sight and sound of Seungcheol panting for him. He can feel hardness against his thigh and shifts it upwards. The resulting moan reverberates through him.

Good. He’s not the only one affected by this.

“Couch,” he commands and Seungcheol is practically scrambling to obey. He sits himself, nice and pretty, onto the couch while Jihoon sheds his bottoms. He can feel himself hardening, blood rushing downwards at the dark and hungry look in the elder’s eyes.

He wants everything Seungcheol is willing to give. More, if he’d allow it.

There’s no finesse in the way Jihoon rips the clothes off Seungcheol – he wants Seungcheol naked, plain and simple. He’s seen the ridges of muscle and expanse of pale skin before, but this is the first time he’s allowed to really _look_. It’s the first time he gets to touch and his hands smooth over the taut skin like an artist would smooth down a canvas (lovingly, gently, _god I love you_ ). He maps out with hands and lips, ears straining to hear the melody of Seungcheol lost in desire.

Jihoon will remember this night for a long time. He wants to commit as much to it to memory as he can.

“Jihoon, _please_.” Seungcheol's voice cracks as fingers dance down the trail of hair, low on his abdomen, stopping _just_ short of where he wants it to be.

“Talk to me,” Jihoon demands gently, straddling Seungcheol's thighs so he can ghost his lips over the latter’s. Seungcheol dick twitches, left untouched and leaking between them. “Tell me what you want, hyung.”

“Fuck me,” Seungcheol hiccups, pupils blown wide. “Want your cock in me, Jihoon-ah.”

Jihoon's lips curve; not quite a smirk, but not a smile either. Seungcheol looks absolutely debauched – hair messy, lips swollen and all because of Jihoon. He wants to be the only one to see him like this. “Don’t want me to ride you? I see you watching me sometimes, when I dance.” The memory is seared into Jihoon's brain now, of Seungcheol watching mesmerised as Jihoon runs through the choreography with Soonyoung.

Seungcheol's head drops back, baring his neck to Jihoon's ministrations in a gesture that’s so submissive. He nips, hard enough to feel, but not enough to leave a mark (he can’t leave one, no matter how much he wants to, because no one can know). “Please,” he moans, voice vibrating through his throat and onto Jihoon's lips.

Jihoon pulls away, but Seungcheol's hands are on his thighs immediately, holding him immobile. “I need to get the lube,” Jihoon explains belatedly. Seungcheol hesitates, then releases him. (Jihoon thinks he might feel the imprint for days, even if there is no bruise left behind.)

He stands, aware of Seungcheol's unwavering gaze as he backs away. His shirt falls to the floor, goosebumps immediately appearing on his skin. “On your back. Hold yourself open for me, baby,” he orders and he memorises the way a shiver runs through Seungcheol's body before he complies. It’s the rush of power, Jihoon thinks, that make this so titillating. It’s the same when he’s directing, when he’s sitting in this room and the others are next door, words tumbling out of their mouths the way Jihoon tells them to.

Jihoon gropes blindly for the lube behind him, not wasting a moment before he’s up against Seungcheol once more. He runs his palm over Seungcheol's ass, grinning slightly at the wanton sound that leaves Seungcheol's lips. He has a fleeting thought of wanting to record that, but it’s gone in a moment.

 _It’ll be a distant memory tomorrow._ It’s a comfort and a curse. Jihoon's half-convinced this is all a dream.

Jihoon's fingers make short work of prepping the elder – one finger, then two, sliding in easily. Seungcheol's more than ready, but he wants to see him _aching_ for a cock – Jihoon's cock – in his tight hole. He draws it out, watching the way Seungcheol's face contorts in his pleasure. Jihoon thrusts in once more, deeper than before, and Seungcheol nearly arches off the couch. _Found it_.

“Jihoonie, please – want your cock – no more, not enough.” A string of words leave Seungcheol's lips, but they’re barely coherent. The elder is usually so put together (out of necessity rather than habit), but it’s so good to see him so – so _broken_ like this. Unwound, like a spring that’s been coiled too tightly. Jihoon hasn’t seen Seungcheol like this since their trainee days.

Not wanting to torture him any further, Jihoon slicks up his cock and presses it against Seungcheol's entrance. He tries to take it slow, he really does, but Seungcheol's walls are sucking him in until Jihoon's bottomed out.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Seungcheol moans, the one word stretched out. “Please, for the love of god, _move_.”

Jihoon can’t deny him that, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. Seungcheol _wails_ , grip on his thighs white-knuckled. By some miracle, Jihoon’s found his prostate on the first try. Now to do it again. And again. And again.

Jihoon's not sure how he lasted as long as he did. Between the symphony of sound Seungcheol emits and the milking of his walls, it’s not long before Jihoon is on the cusp of release. He can feel it swirling low in his body, but more importantly, he wants to see Seungcheol come with him.

His hand wraps around Seungcheol's cock, causing the elder to choke on a whine. He strokes in time with his thrusts in a well-practiced rhythm borne from years of dancing. Jihoon knows how to move his body and he’s hoping Seungcheol will appreciate the effort.

“Jihoon, Jihoon, oh god, Jihoon. I’m gonna come, don’t stop – ”

“That’s right,” Jihoon growls. “Say it. Say my fucking name.”

“Jihoon, Jihoon, _Jihoon_.” Seungcheol's voice drops into a low bass as he comes all over Jihoon's fist and onto his own stomach. The sudden release of tension from Seungcheol's taut muscles is a vision – in complete contrast to his walls spasming around Jihoon's cock. It’s the utterly blissed out and satisfied look on Seungcheol's face that finally has Jihoon blowing his load, the former moaning weakly as Jihoon fills him up.

Jihoon slumps, barely holding himself up over the mess Seungcheol made. He’d want nothing more than to stay where he is, but he can’t. He has to clean up and eventually, Seungcheol has to leave.

Seungcheol has to leave so they can begin to move forward from this.

The words _I love you_ choke Jihoon as he pulls out and reaches for the box of tissues he keeps on the other end of the couch. Seungcheol is quiet for once; it’s a good thing, Jihoon tells himself, because there are no words for what they’ve done.

“Your food is cold.”

… Those are not the words he was expecting. Jihoon jerks, looking away from where he’s getting rid of the come dripping out of Seungcheol's ass.

“What?”

“Your food.” Seungcheol gestures with a limp hand. “It’s cold.”

Jihoon feels hysteria bubble in his throat as he tosses the dirty tissues into the trash can and slips into his boxers. Seungcheol is still gorgeously, gloriously naked, but Jihoon can’t look. He has to force himself to look anywhere but at the skin Seungcheol is so willing to bare. “Is that all you have to say?” Jihoon's voice is surprisingly level.

“What do you want me to say?” Seungcheol inquires with a quirk of his eyebrow. “That was great? I’ve never been fucked like that my entire life? They’re cheap words, Jihoon.”

The vocalist winces. He’s a leader in his own right too, but he was never trained for this. “I – that’s not what I wanted to hear.”

“Then what?” Seungcheol's voice softens and he’s cupping Jihoon's cheek. “I like you? You should have known.”

His breath freezes in his lungs. _Should have… known…?_ “What are you trying to say?” he croaks, hope making his throat tight.

Seungcheol's draws ever closer and Jihoon shuts his eyes, letting himself bask in the warmth that is Choi Seungcheol.

“I don’t like one-night stands,” Seungcheol murmurs.

“I know.”

“I don’t want _this_ to be a one-night stand.”

“… I know.”

“…”

“…”

“… Jihoon?”

 _I love you_.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever looked at.” Jihoon breathes the admission into the air between their lips.

The edges of Seungcheol's eyes crinkle in a smile that takes his breath away. “Good.”

 

 

“Did the two of you spend the night at the studio again?” Soonyoung yawns as Jihoon and Seungcheol attempt to sneak into their beds. Jihoon looks faintly guilty, but a lazy smile graces Seungcheol's lips.

“We had some work to do,” Seungcheol answer easily, hand ruffling Jihoon's hair. The shorter male shoots him a glare and brushes the hand away before stomping to his room, grumbling under his breath.

Soonyoung follows him with his eyes sleepily, still waiting for his brain to reboot. He fails to notice the way Jihoon's hand had lingered.

“Okay,” he mutters before heading back to bed for a couple more hours. Seungcheol was in a good mood, for some reason. Might as well take advantage of it while he can.


End file.
